


hollow

by theadventuresof



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, be warned, discussion of anorexia nervosa, discussion of bulimia, just to stay on the safe side here, might be graphic, not particularly graphic, personal headcanons for light and L
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadventuresof/pseuds/theadventuresof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a study of Light Yagami's eating habits.</p><p>(...happier fic coming soon |D )</p>
            </blockquote>





	hollow

Light Yagami comes downstairs for breakfast looking impeccably dressed, his bookbag slung over his shoulder with practiced offhandedness. Not a single hair on his head is out of place, and his school uniform is neatly pressed. He is the very picture of the fabled, immaculate honors student.

“Morning,” he says to the small family at the table: Sachiko, lined and familiar, comfortably dressed in a modest blouse and loose trousers; Sayu, in her patterned leggings and button-down dress; Soichiro—

Oh. Soichiro isn’t here, but his newspaper is folded at his spot at the table. Sachiko spies Light looking.

“He just left,” she tells him, as Light picks up his shoes from beside the door. “He got a call.”

Light wonders what it is this time, what awful thing has happened to tear his father away from the family again. For a moment he feels that terrible pressure behind his eyes, and a sinking feeling drops through his chest. He had always thought he wanted to become a detective, to help impose justice. But lately he’s been wondering if that’s even possible—if he even wants to anymore.

Sayu finishes her breakfast, grabs her bag, and heads to the door. “Bye, Light,” she says. She’s been going in to school early to get extra help with her essay all week. “See you later, Mom.”

Light gracefully pushes himself to his feet, shoes tied. “I’d better go too, Mom,” he says, and Sachiko turns around from the frying pan.

“Dear, breakfast!” she says.

Light dips his head and smiles, and there is something bleak behind his eyes that Sachiko doesn’t see. “I’ll get something on the way,” he says. “Thanks, Mom.”

“All right, Light,” says Sachiko warmly. Light closes the door behind him with a final sort of click.

* * *

The Death Note brings a welcome change of pace. It’s as if someone’s lit a fire in Light’s head. _This_ is why Light is on earth. This is the piece he has been missing all this time. He works late into the night, feeling raw energy flowing into the tips of his fingers and out of his pen as he writes down names in a cathartic rush of blossoming exhilaration, and he collapses against the back of his chair, winded, once he’s finished. He can’t eat much of anything for the first week of murders, and his weight plummets—he’s already thin from a multitude of hungry nights when he would refrain from eating just to remind himself that he was capable of feeling _something_ —he would curl up his bed, feeling the horrible throb in the pit of his stomach, oddly comforted by the sensation, and wake up feeling fresh and clear.

Light finishes his last name for the night with a sort of flourish, sips a tiny bit of green tea, and feels faint.

His family doesn’t notice a thing.

* * *

It is warm the morning L and Light have their first tennis match, and as midday approaches the heat only gets worse. Light’s old tennis uniform exposes his thin legs and bony forearms. He doesn’t think much of it until he’s getting changed after the match and he sees himself in the mirror.

_Is that really me?_

There’s less of him than he had thought. He’s momentarily shocked, feeling as if he’s staring at a skeleton, but he quickly shoves a jacket and sweatpants on over his uniform and shakes his head. The tennis match has taken more out of him than he realizes, and he’s panting by the time he rejoins L at the path in front of the auditorium. L, however blunt he may be, doesn’t say anything. Light’s certain he notices.

Light orders a cup of coffee. It doesn’t help.

* * *

“No exceptions,” L is saying.

Light is beginning to panic. “Please, Ryuzaki, listen to me,” he says. “This is absurd. I can accept the handcuffs for times while we’re working together, but you can’t expect me to—to shower and change clothes and _sleep_ with them on—”

“In fact, I do,” L says, without the slightest change in expression. “You agreed, Light. This is the only way to keep you from going back into confinement.”

Light jolts in his chair and a thousand thoughts flash through his mind—days turning to weeks turning to months in that dismal cell, a turbulent car ride to his imminent execution, his father pointing a pistol between his eyes. “All—all right,” he says, barely preventing his voice from shaking.

L looks at him, surveys him hard, and sees the fear in his eyes behind the composed mask.

The first night Light changes facing the wall, and surreptitiously ducks behind the bed to put on his nightshirt so that L can’t see his bare chest, his conspicuous ribs. L is waiting for him when he surfaces. Too soon. Too soon. He’s done up the buttons wrong. He has to do it again, discreetly. L turns back to his computer, but Light has the feeling that he’s watching out of the corner of his eye. L is always watching him, in some fashion.

“Light,” L says.

Light leans over the bed and prepares to crawl under the covers. “Yes?” 

L pauses, perhaps reconsidering his decision to speak. “You look thin,” he says at last. “Are you all right?”

Light settles into bed, trying to find a position that doesn’t chafe against his wrist. “These last few months have been difficult,” he says truthfully. L suddenly looks fantastically guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know the confinement must have been hard on you. We can’t have you starving. Are you hungry? We can get something now.”

Light shakes his head, embarrassed. The last thing he wants is attention drawn to his body. He must regain the upper hand in the conversation.

“Was that genuine concern in your voice, Ryuzaki?” he says. His heart isn’t in the retort at all.

L is silent. This is all very unlike him. Light blinks, and, as if he’s seeing L for the first time, realizes how— _equally_ thin he is. Light doesn’t purge, not anymore—not since his earlier years of high school—but he knows the signs, and L’s teeth are rather worn, in that telltale way, and there’s something raspy in his voice.

A spark goes off in Light’s head as these thoughts connect in a sudden burst of clarity, and the two detectives meet each other’s gaze.

“If there’s anything you want to discuss—” L begins stiffly, just as Light says, “How long have you—”

They try again, each time cutting each other off, and L takes Light’s wrist and holds Light’s soft, perfectly manicured hands in his bony pale ones. “I haven’t,” L says firmly. “Not for years. My addictions come and go in droves. Light, look at me.”

Light frowns at L, finds himself staring at the wisps of jet-black hair falling into L’s eyes.

“I am by no means your doctor,” L says. “But—come to me. If you need to. I assume your family doesn’t know.”

Light shakes his head. “I never told a soul,” he says.

L blinks at him, not unkindly.

“I liked being hungry,” Light says. “I was in control, or in some illusion of it, anyway. I was just…living, otherwise. I hated it. Everything was just—dull. But then that changed, once—” Light frowns. There’s a piece missing here.

“Once what?” L says.

“I suppose, once I met you,” Light decides. That's not the right reason, but he can't remember what the real one is, and besides it sounds nice coming out of his mouth.

L stares at him again, sober and weary, and Light wonders just how old the detective actually is. When they first met, he wouldn’t have been surprised if L was younger than he was. But now, looking at his dark eyes, he looks impossibly old.

“That must have raised my percentage,” says Light, dreading the response. L looks up at the ceiling.

“Unfortunately, yes,” L says, and turns off the lights.

“We are too similar, you know,” Light hears him say, and he pulls the covers up to hide his bony shoulders with a sigh.


End file.
